


Bloody Mike by D.W.

by xHaruka17x



Category: Supernatural
Genre: AU, Anal Sex, Gore, Graphic Artist/Novelist Dean, Graphic Violence, Graphic descriptions, Horror, M/M, Needy Castiel, Plot Twist, Size Kink, Tattooed Dean, Top Dean/Bottom Cas, Twink Castiel, murders, slight dubcon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-31
Updated: 2019-08-31
Packaged: 2020-10-03 17:26:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,135
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20456690
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xHaruka17x/pseuds/xHaruka17x
Summary: Dean Winchester is a talented author and illustrator of popular horror genre graphic novels. His latest series named ‘Bloody Mike’ is quite successful, and as the installments continue, so does Dean’s odd new one night stand-which starts to become much more frequent and makes him question his own sanity, including all that he had ever thought of the occult and religion, when fiction bleeds into reality and he becomes the prime suspect.





	Bloody Mike by D.W.

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first time participating in the SPN Dark Fic Challenge! Posting earlier then my original posting date because of the impending Hurricane Dorian hitting in mere days and thank you to all the Mods for being awesome and MalMuses for being so helpful and understanding <3 
> 
> HUGE thank you to Nera_Solani for the murdering goodness! Thank you to amyoatmeal, HistoryMightBeFun, liawinchester and Scribo_Vivere for Beta and Alpha help!
> 
> I can't thank Bees enough for the amazing art and damn awesomeness! Was a privilege working with you!! Here is her tumblr page, please give her luv and her master post of the art for this fic will be up soon. https://bees0are0awesome.tumblr.com/
> 
> Happy reading!

Playing with the metal hoop in his lip, Dean sighed as he signed what felt like the millionth copy of his graphic novel, ‘Bloody Mike’. The Megacon convention was in full swing, and his publishings were being purchased and/or signed by him. He had a pretty decent line, and there were always the overly fanatic ones that practically called him their ‘overlord’, which was fucking weird as shit.

He actually hated these kinds of circuses, but his publicist pushed him to attend a few every year, saying it was good for business and all that crap. Dean just wanted to draw, write, and get paid. The ‘fame’ part was irritating, and other artists he had met over the years really tended to let the fame get to their heads, which resulted in egos galore. No thank you.

Of course, there were some parts of attending cons that he did enjoy. He did get a kick out of seeing the many cosplays. Dean would even sneak into the contest auditorium to watch the events. No matter what anyone thought, seeing people love fictional characters so much that they spent time, money and talents in making their costume was damn impressive. The few he had been honored to see cosplayed as ‘Bloody Mike’ were always awesome. His character, however, was as plain Jane as could be. He didn’t have a cool outfit, nor was he half monster or robotic. His character was a street savvy hustler that did what he needed to do to survive, and most of the time ended up on the wrong side of the law. Dean had never really been able to explain where or how he dug up Mike’s backstory. It was a mix of true crime shows he had seen, mixed in with his own fascination of insanity that people tended to blame on religion for why they did horrific things. But for Dean, he had wanted to twist his story a bit.

While he had made sure to depict Mike’s messed up story of being born of rape and raised in a fucked up environment to a mother that hated him and loved drugs more than him, young Mike took to the streets and started to see the side of the dark underworld that dealt in sex, violence, and terrifying men and women that lived simply to use and hurt others. Mike was molded by the streets, while exploring religions he couldn’t find answers to. He couldn’t see why ‘god’ and ‘jesus’ would warrant why people were hateful beings, and how they could justify it. While in prison, Mike came to learn about Satanism in the darkest of versions, and for a small time, it did fascinate him with the ‘sacrificial’ needs the Devil supposedly demanded. When he hit his mid twenties, Mike got into a fight, and ended up making his first kill.

Dean had gone into gruesome details of how the character had now transitioned into a killer. He had also done a damn good job in showing the glee in Mike as he watched the life leave the eyes of the man he had killed. This was where the ‘need’ to be praised set in for the character, and like a dog hoping to be praised and rewarded for a good deed, Mike stepped over that line and turned his first kill into a crazy sacrificial offering to Satan.

All of that had taken place in his first two books. The ending with the Satan sacrifice had brought out many fans and readers that filled his inbox and website with massive, and at times impressive, theories of what was to happen now. There had also been many hate-filled dialogues by fanatics that either accused him of touching on the topic of Satan too heavily, or overly religious evangelicals that were already condemning him in spitting out a ‘trope’ that was overdone and re-used when it came to the Satanic killer MO.

By then, Dean had already had his full draft for book three done, and while the ideas of some fans had been intriguing, he had chosen to stay with his original idea. If he was going to explore the religious side of evil and get hate for it anyway, why not twist it all the way?

Book three had introduced the ‘fun’ part for Dean. He had always had various interests in the occult; what artist didn’t on some level? He had drowned himself in ancient scriptures stating they were ‘authentic’ and very powerful, yet there hadn’t been much in the description of what this supposed ‘summoning’ scripture held or commanded. Dean hadn’t bothered giving himself a headache over it. It was online, for crying out loud; how ‘genuine’ could it actually be? So, his character Mike had come into some old man’s well kept hidden storage, and stumbled upon a sealed wooden box, adorned with a multitude of sigils and wardings that Dean had taken extra time in detailing. Mike found old and ancient sacred texts that held images of the Archangel Michael and all of his mighty powers. The book had ended with Mike quickly realizing that his ‘offerings’ to Satan were complete bullshit, and once he had taken a look at those ancient writings, he had laughed like a possessed man when he saw one of the passages spoke of ‘binding an angel’. Thinking ‘why the hell not’, Mike went on a small mission to find the ingredients he would need for the binding, and proceeded to summon an angel. The final artwork was of a shadowed outline of an angel that voiced ‘Hello, Mike’.

Dean was currently in the middle of finishing book four, which would go out in just a few short weeks, but a ridiculous amount of people, fans and book reviewers alike, had begged him for a sound bite or a tip as to what would happen next for Bloody Mike. Dean wasn’t one to talk or let out any spoilers for what he was working on. That just wasn’t his style.

As he sat at the convention, signing a string of his book’s third volume one after another, and listening to fans either gushing about his creativity or art style as while others gave him their own theories or praised him, his eyes landed on a particular ‘fan’ he had met last session during the first press release of volume three. First it had been at the convention itself, exchanging flirtatious and sultry gazes, and then, when the ‘fan’ had walked up to Dean’s table to get his autograph, the sly fan had slid over a card with where Dean could meet him _after._

Yeah, the other part of the cons Dean tended to very much enjoy were the endless amount of ass he could have, and quite often did. He had an appetite for pretty males, twinks, or lean-bodied hotties that he could easily manhandle. There was something about being with a much smaller lover that turned on his size kink to a whole new level. He was anything but average, and watching a tight, perky plump ass take all of him always made his toes curl.

And that particular fan might as well have been all of Dean’s dirty little secrets bundled up with his onslaught of kinks all in one. Dean had indeed met up with the fan in a hotel room of the very hotel that had been hosting the convention. He was small and lean, with creamy soft skin and mesmerizing ocean blue eyes that were crowned in black lashes, which matched dark chocolate hair that Dean had quite some fun pulling and tugging at. The twink had sinful plush pink lips that were made to suck Dean’s cock, and the fucker had been a damn pro at it, like he had known exactly how Dean liked it. The twink had been pliant and hungry for Dean’s touch, his mouth, and his cock, and had sung beautifully for Dean, his cries and moans with whiny gasps sheer music to Dean’s ears. The fan had been a perfect little cock slut, and Dean had taken his time preparing him. That slick and hot hole had taken all of Dean in one slow thrust.

Dean had fucked into him with abandon; split him nearly in half, and the twink had gone on begging for more and sounded so perfectly needy and desperate that Dean had let himself loose. It wasn’t many one night stands he came across where he could let himself go and hold down his partner, and he rolled his hips, hitting that spot hard and fast and watching those stunning blue eyes turn blissed out, the ring of blue completely gone and replaced by lust filled black. The twink was completely debauched, his hair a wild mess and his lips parted and kiss swollen. It had made Dean growl at the deliciously sinful sight. To his sudden surprise, the fan had bitten his shoulder as he fucked into him, and fuck if Dean hadn’t loved the feeling of being bitten on his shoulders. He had pulled back and grasped those insanely thick thighs, and knew he would be leaving bruises as he held his lover’s legs open and watched his cock slide in and out of the tight, wet hole.

Most people, when they met him, seemed either shocked, scared or excited. At six foot two, Dean wasn’t a small nerd of a guy. He kept in shape, and took pride in his body being strong and his canvas for the multitude of colorful tattoos that decorated the whole of him. Both arms had full sleeves. The left was a bio-mechanical design with a ‘W’ shield on its forefront, and the right had a brightly colored design of cultural gods of death from different religions. Covering his chest was a custom designed family crest, while his whole back held a massive dragon head. He was quite fond of that one. Dean’s calves were covered in wolves, tigers and forest motifs in dark black and green hues.

The fan had spent as much time as he could cherishing Dean’s body, and fuck if he hadn’t known just how to play with Dean’s nipple piercings and rake his blunt nails down his back and shoulders, making Dean hiss at the mix of pain and pleasure he _really_ fucking enjoyed.

Dean had always had a strict rule when it came to his ‘unattached drifters fun’ way of life to get his sexual release. Relationships were much too complicated, and kids were out of the question—not to mention that although he was openly bi, he preferred male twinks, so this worked best for him. Part of that rule was that no names were needed, because he wouldn't bother remembering, and no numbers would be getting exchanged. He had made that mistake a few times, and had always ended up with clingy psychos.

This twink, however, had seemed to know what was what, or simply didn’t care. Yet, said fan had been to three cons Dean had attended, which had ended with them having a serious fuck fest. Then, he had twice ‘bumped’ into him at a local bar Dean had randomly picked around his condo, and well, names had been exchanged.

‘Cas’ was the gorgeous little thing’s name. Dean was watching him now as he stood in line, and yeah, his fucking cock was already twitching in interest. His green gaze eyed Cas hungrily as he licked his lips and played with his hoop. The artist had no idea what it was about the twink but it was almost a damn regular thing now. While that bothered Dean on some level, because no commitment was ever happening from him, he couldn’t say no. Every time he saw the fucking twink, with his perfect, big blue eyes that trapped him, and those lips… yeah, Dean liked kissing and exploring them, and fuck…he was already hard in his jeans.

Soon enough, Cas was standing in front of him, only the signing table between them. The exotic bastard was smiling down at Dean while working his plump lower lip between his teeth, acting all innocent, and damn if the artist didn’t know it was all an act. The twink was wearing a powder blue and white two piece cheerleader outfit that showed off his toned stomach, and had the word ‘Angel’ artfully displayed across the top’s front. The pleated skirt reached the midpoint of his thick thighs, and he wore knee high matching stockings.

Dean had taken his time eyeing him, and Cas was enjoying every second of it as he slid forward yet another copy of the third installment of Bloody Mike. The word ‘Kawaii’ hit Dean just then. It was one of the few words he had picked up guest appearing at cons. In the Japanese anime world, it was said to mean ‘cute’ or ‘adorable’, and while Cas definitely looked it, the glint in those sky blue eyes that were hungrily looking at him showed he had much more X-rated intent.

“Lookin’ _‘Kawaii’_, Cas,” Dean teased, as he smiled smugly at the twink.

“Oh, Mr. Winchester, thank you. I knew you’d like it. I was hoping we could take a selfie?” Cas countered, as he started around the table. Before Dean could agree or deny, a bouncer went to stop him. Cas looked at Dean expectantly, and the artist waved off the bodyguard. Castiel sashayed himself over towards Dean.

The twink made a show of turning and bending over, giving Dean a beautiful sneak peek of the fact that he was wearing nothing but a skimpy jock strap that rounded his perky ass gorgeously. Dean groaned as the seconds long glimpse ended with Cas sitting on his lap and posing against him, while he snapped a selfie of them.

“You’re a fucking evil tease,” Dean growled quietly, so only Cas could hear.

Cas stood and swirled, making the skirt twirl as he went and bent closer to Dean and whispered, “I just wanna make sure you know what's waiting for you.”

Dean took a deep breath, taking in the soft and yet alluring scent that seemed to solely be Cas’. He closed his eyes and listened to the hotel name and room number the twink was going to be waiting in for him to come fuck him senseless when the madness of the con ended in a few hours.

The artist watched that perfect behind his libido was addicted to walking away from him. His cock was still semi-hard in his jeans, especially after the brief touch of the twink on his lap for the pic. Fuck, he needed the con to end, now.

**#####**

“Fuck, yeah,” Dean growled, watching that perfect, perky, small ass take all of his thick cock, fast and hungry as Cas rolled his hips. Dean had barely entered the hotel room before the twink jumped on him, kissing him like the twink was drowning. His clothes had been yanked off, while Dean made sure his little cheerleader kept that outfit on and rode his cock.

Cas was moaning and panting as he leaned forward and placed his hand on Dean’s bare knees for support while he swirled his hips wildly, giving the artist a gorgeous view of his ass getting fucked hard.

Dean thrust up into that hot and wet heat, his large hands grasping and pulling apart the twink’s cheeks, loving how big his cock looked going in and out of the lean body. He bit his lower lip and played with the hoop as he watched the glistening lube. The sound made his ego soar. The pleated skirt was pushed up, and at times Dean couldn’t help but pull at it to get deeper into his lover.

“Yes, yes, yes!” Cas was a babbling mess as the sound of his ass slapping down on Dean echoed over his whimpered moans.

Dean growled, and sat up in a split second to grab Cas. He pulled him back against him as he moved towards the edge of the bed and planted his feet firmly on the carpeted floor. He proceeded to fuck the twink roughly as he held him down against him. Cas cried out as the new angle hit his pleasure spot directly and repeatedly, and he laid against the artist and let the big man take over and manhandle him just as he wanted. He was still wearing his jockstrap, and knew he wasn’t allowed to touch his straining cock; that Dean wanted him to come untouched, and it was most definitely never a problem when Dean fucked him.

Dean groaned and gasped in pleasure as he lifted Cas’s right leg up and wrapped his left hand around the twink’s throat, keeping him in a firm hold as he fucked into him in abandon. Cas trembled and cried out in wailing moans as his ass clenched around Dean’s massive cock.

Dean knew his lover was close, and fuck, he was about to fill the condom. His little cheerleader howled in pleasure as he came, soaking his thin jockstrap, and whimpered. Dean moaned and threw his head back as his cock twitched violently and filled the condom. His body still kept thrusting up into the pliant body he was still holding on tightly to, and he could feel the excess from his load spilling out.

**#####**

The fourth installment of the Bloody Mike series had now been out only about two weeks, and Dean was already at a local comic book shop that loved to feature him and other artists that went into the darker styles of graphic novels. While his previous books in the series had indeed been bloody and gory, the fourth book was by far the most stomach-turning. He already had a few ideas playing in his head for the fifth book as he signed copies after copies of the fourth one that loyal fans were putting in front of him.

It depicted five everyday, normal people that had crossed paths with Mike, who was now hosting an extremely hostile ‘angel’ that took pleasure in hurting and butchering humans, which made the series a rare and wild twisted view of how angels saw humans, and was in contrast to the popular theories that demons were the only evils in the world. All creatures had the potential to be twisted, perverse, and involved in sick pleasure that terrorized others. Humans tended to be the worst ones, but Dean loved the idea of the supernatural.

His series had gained quite a following, and with that, of course, came the people that felt it was their personal mission to ‘educate’ him on _their_ religion, because the idea of an angel being so wrathful wasn’t possible in their little minds. To Dean, religions were just stories, and with every story, one could take and leave what they themselves interpreted from it. Some made it a good thing, while others made you question who the hell still had common sense on this planet.

Dean smirked. That's what he had Crowley for. The plump Brit was his manager/publicist, and was damn good at his job. He handled all the crazies, as long as Dean provided the novels.

“Mr. Winchester, that killing of that bookstore owner! The details in your art made me feel like I was right at the scene!” gushed the thirty-something year old guy sporting large, thick-framed glasses and an argyle sweater vest. Dean nodded his thanks, asked the guy’s name, and scribbled his signature on the cover.

Dean tended to take his inspirations from his personal surroundings. The ‘made up’ streets and neighborhood his character Mike lived in and frequented had an eerily similar layout to his own living area. Now, while he couldn’t call his neighborhood dark and gloomy, he could most certainly make Mike’s seem so. The five murders Dean had implanted into his fourth novel had all been loosely based on actual individuals that lived or worked in the vicinity of Dean’s condo. He liked to sit out on his balcony and watch others go about their days or nights, and it never failed to give him random and at times quite far-fetched ideas that he turned into his creative masterpieces.

The particular murder the sweater vest fan had just mentioned was about a local bookstore owner. While Mike had mainly killed for survival before, now the fact that he was hosting a powerful being within him made a simple irritation motive enough, such as the book owner being one of those people that just constantly _smiled_. It gave the impression that everything was always so peachy and peppy, and he’d had one of those laughs that felt too...fake.

The art of drawing and meticulously implanting details was time consuming and important when one drew a gory murder scene, and Dean only lived to please. With the inhuman strength Mike’s angel host provided him as they spoke internally, they had made quite the display out of the bookstore owner and his fucking smile. In an attempt to save his life, the bookstore owner made a pathetic scuffle, which only resulted in Mike easily strangling him and slammed him to the ground in the middle of his precious books. As the man struggled to take his last breath, Mike had used his favorite knife that had been heated with the angel’s grace or power in order to slice a prominent and permanent smile up into his fat cheeks, the pain searing as he spasmed and attempted to hold on to his life. The store owner had been known to have a ‘good’ heart, and Mike had made sure to show it by cutting it right out of his chest to stuff it into that fucking smiling face. With his bulging, wide open eyes, he had been quite a sight. Yet, something had been missing, and as Mike looked around the bookstore, he had found a large paperweight. The angel had hissed a resounding ‘yes’ in his mind as he had taken the item and dropped it into the open cavity where the heart had once been. The angel used his powers to ‘heal’ that wound, and Mike had left the scene laughing maniacally, practically crying in glee at the fun he and the angel had had at the bookstore.

_Silenced forever. Their heart heavy, but damned to smile for eternity, the angel’s voice could be heard saying, as Mike laughed._

Yeah, Dean had taken care drawing each scene with its intended and demented meanings on each glossy page.

**#####**

Dean was at the fifth book signing for the fourth volume. Crowley had mentioned how much the book had been generating almost a cult following, and Dean had rolled his eyes. Fans were always and forever appreciated. Without them, he didn’t pay rent or eat, plain and simple, yet there were always the few fans that were just…too much. Bloody Mike was fiction, and anyone that took the twisting of angels and gory murders to heart were a bit too unhinged for him.

While Mike had no selected target and everything was random, at least one of the murders in the fourth book had brought on an onslaught of ‘poor guy’ coddlers for the murdered clumsy fool that had the horrible luck of simply gaining Mike’s attention. Bored on a Sunday afternoon, loitering by the side alleyway on a rainy day, the psychopath spotted a guy that was rushing through the rain with a worried look, holding a newspaper over his head to try to stay somewhat dry. The man moved to cross the street, only to step into a huge puddle which soaked him, and then the poor guy's foot got stuck on something in that puddle, and the guy face planted into the water.

Mike laughed. The man had looked on the verge of tears, all while attempting to glare at Mike’s crowing, and of course, that had sealed the clumsy man’s fate.

Dean had drawn the police finding the poor man hung up like a marionette, but with a few of the strings severed to symbolize and emphasize the fool’s clumsiness. Mike had used the angel’s grace to ‘dangle’ the man using wires from Mike’s own umbrella, piercing them through the man’s joints as he cried and screamed and begged for the pain to stop. Mike and the angel, however, strung him up high in the alley between the buildings, and left him there to die painfully. Such a deadly inside joke.

The artist had actually been a bit shocked to notice that some fans had actually cosplayed as some of the victims in his graphic novels, which was a whole other kind of novelty he had never even thought about beyond the dressing up as Mike himself. Seeing the victims had struck him as odd. However, he couldn’t begrudge creativity when he saw it, because yeah, seeing the ‘marionnette clumsy guy’ cosplay of one particular guy was damn impressive, and eerily realistic with all of the wires sticking out. The fan had come to his table and asked for a selfie, and yeah, to Dean that was damn worth one, since he always tended to say no.

“I have to say man, using ancient Tamil and some other crazy old languages for your angel guy is really cool. Makes it super interesting, like it's an actual language. Your art style is wicked, man. Actually been a fan of yours since you were drawing for Darkhorse comic covers. I have that one signed pin up you drew of Mammon and one for The Cleaners!” The next fan was going on excitedly. Those comics hadn’t been his creations; he had only been one of the artists, but it had really opened doors for him in the beginning of his career five years ago.

“Thanks, man.” Dean smirked and signed the t-shirt the guy handed him of the ‘Bloody Mike’ series.

“You ever wonder if any of that old language shit is real?” the fan suddenly asked, as he gave Dean book volume four to sign next.

Dean arched a brow at him. “Why, you trying to summon yourself an angel?” the artist teased. The conversation was a bit ridiculous. While Dean did find it all very interesting, the religions and all of its supernatural realms were nothing but stories-fascinating ones, but just stories.

The fan laughed, thanked him for signing his merchandise, and walked away.

“Dean!”

The artist turned around to find his manager Crowley calling for him from the VIP area behind the signing posters. Dean made a motion of ‘one sec’ to the next fan waiting in line, and made his way over towards Crowley. Dean found he was accompanied by two men in cheap suits.

“Gentlemen? What’s going on?” Dean asked, as Crowley looked merely annoyed at having their routine at a con disturbed.

“These ‘detectives’ wish to speak with you about the book.” Crowley spoke over the two men, who were merely glaring at the shorter man. Dean licked his lips and played with his hoop as he tried not to smile at the shorter man’s antics. Crowley did not like his schedules to be derailed.

“As Mr. Crowley mentioned, we need to speak with you, Mr. Winchester. It will only take a moment of your time,” the detective with a seventies style mustache stated.

“Alright?” Dean arched a brow for them to proceed, while both detectives shared a look that clearly said they had hoped to have the conversation in a more ‘private’ setting.

Crowley also noticed, and sighed loudly as he rolled his eyes. “Please follow me. We can go into one of the small conference rooms.”

Once they were all seated, the detectives took out a few photographs and laid them out in front of Dean. Crowley had refused to leave, and stated he would be acting as Dean’s lawyer if he needed one.

“What the hell is all this about? Do I actually need a lawyer?” Dean was wondering what the fuck was going on as the mustached detective laid out six 8x11 photographs.

“Not exactly. We were able to ping your phone during the time these occurred, and while you are not directly involved...well, as you can see, we can’t help but turn to you about these violent and damn unusual and brutal murders,” the other detective, who was a lanky bald man, stated, which made Dean’s eyebrows hit his hairline.

“What?!”

“Mr. Winchester, please look at the photographs.”

Dean did, and right away he saw that three of them were actual pages from Bloody Mike, volume four. There were the murders of the bookstore owner, the clumsy fool, and another of the more detailed murders he had drawn of the deli man. Next to each of those three pictures were…Dean stared, shocked. “Are those…are those actual crime scenes?”

The detectives nodded. Dean grabbed the picture closest to his right hand, and looked at it wide eyed.

In Dean’s ‘Bloody Mike’, the deli man owned a store working at the corner of the street. Mike targeted him when he noticed his greed when it came to overcharging customers. Mike cut open his chest and poured hot coffee into the open wound while the deli man was still somewhat alive for a few seconds. Mike had then taken the time to cut small incisions all over the man’s body, and had disgustingly stuffed coins into them. Bills were stuffed into the coffee soaked chest cavity. ‘No more greed’ had been the angel’s words on the page.

Dean wiped his mouth and chin as he realized that this very real crime scene photo was the replica of his drawings. He dropped the photographs and looked over at the others, and sure enough, the bookstore owner and the clumsy man had been killed and displayed just as he had portrayed.

He could hear Crowley practically grinding his teeth behind him.

“Someone is obviously quite a fan, Mr. Winchester, and believe us when we say we have never seen anything like this. The recreation of your fiction is…well, damn disturbing, and a goddamn puzzle as to how anyone could do these things without a trace or any witnesses,” the bald detective stated.

For the first time in an extremely long time, Dean’s mind was completely blank. He had no idea how to feel, what to think, or even how to begin considering what he should do next. How did one process something this fucking crazy? Someone was out there actually murdering people… not only people, but an actual bookstore and a deli shop owner, and some clumsy guy on a rainy day. _What. The. Actual. Fuck._ was all Dean could think of on repeat. He kept rubbing at his mouth and chin, his throat felt dry, and he just had no idea what to do about any of this.

“You have a psychotic and delusional fan, Mr. Winchester-” the mustache started, only for Crowley to cut in.

“Yeah, well, have you seen half of the people at this convention? It’s a horror and fantasy convention, gentlemen, so I suggest you start your investigation with the ‘fans’ that still live in their mother’s basements and masturbate to Sailor Moon,” Crowley growled out, as he pulled Dean to his feet. “Now, if you will excuse us, he has books to sign, and you flatfoots have something better to do than harass my artist. You stated that you checked and cleared us, so anything else will be through our lawyer, Mr. Alistair.”

Crowley guided Dean out of the small conference room and shoved a water bottle at Dean. The artist had no idea where the hell he had gotten it, but at the moment, he couldn’t care less and practically chugged the whole bottle. “Here.” Crowley then handed him a flask, and Dean knew damn well it wasn’t filled with the cheap shit. Dean took a good swig, and took a moment to enjoy the burning sensation all the way to his toes.

“Crowley…”

“Don’t worry. I’ll handle everything. I won’t let this affect your book sales.”

“That’s not what the fuck I’m worried about!”

“Alright, mighty warrior, what are you going to do? Go play detective and find out who is so twisted upstairs that they are killing people just like you have drawn? Where would you like to start? Would you like to get on the signing table downstairs and call out the evil doer to let him know you don’t approve?” Crowley rounded on him, and as much as he was pissing him off, Dean knew he was right. What the fuck could he even do about any of this? He was three quarters into volume five, and had to make his deadlines and ‘live’ his life. And that was the problem: this fucking guilt that was gripping him. He felt like he had somehow painted a bulls-eye on these random people he didn’t even know, but had only seen in passing. They’d had their lives taken from them…because of him? Because of his creativity, horror style art, and story?

Crowley signed and pinched the bridge of his nose. “I understand how insane this is; I do. Hell, I’ll find you a shrink you can talk to if it will help, but in the meantime, I suggest trying to go about your normal ways-”

“How?!”

Crowley glared at him and held his gaze. “Winchester, you're not the brightest bulb, but I’m quite certain you aren’t the dimmest, either. Think about it. If this IS a fan, don’t you think they are following you on social media, and coming to the cons and book signings to possibly meet you like all of the other ‘normal’ fans?”

Dean’s eyes were wide as he listened to every word that felt much too true and fucked up all at once.

“If he or she, or even they, for that matter, realize you are acting different, or decide to do something foolish like address this mess or stop the series, who do you think their next target will be?”

“What the fuck are you saying, Crowley?”

“I am saying, keep the eyes off of you. Be your reclusive self outside of the publicized cons and signings, and go about your regular day working on book five. The killer, or killers, have not reached out to you, which might mercifully mean that your reaction is not the one they necessarily are seeking.”

Dean hated this with every molecule in his body. He knew Crowley was technically right, and the detectives were more than capable of solving this case, or whatever it was. Dean was an artist and author. He was proud of his achievements, and part of him felt a rage; a wrathful anger at the person or persons who had dared to use him to shit all over his creations and turn them into the real life murders of innocents. Reluctantly, he nodded, and he followed Crowley back out to the con to finish his scheduled appearance.

**#####**

Dean kept true to his manager’s advice, and followed his usual routine, more or less. If he wasn’t drawing and writing, adding to his tats, or drinking watching westerns, he tended to go on the prowl in a local bar, like tonight. He had just walked into the corner bar he liked to frequent, and sure enough, _he_ was there. Dean smirked as he watched the lean pretty thing stand at the bar while some bulk of a man was trying to chat him up.

It had been a few days since the Horror & Fantasy convention and the whole ordeal with the detectives. Dean had actually been surprised when his ‘favorite’ fan Cas hadn’t shown up. He had been a bit disappointed; not that it was something he would actually admit out loud. The artist knew his fondness for the ridiculously bendy cock slut was inching into territory he never liked being near. Attachments were a deal breaker. They were always nothing but problems, and emotions got involved and just…no.

Dean bit at his lip and tongued at his hoop piercing when he made his own point to himself. He was feeling a tiny bit jealous that Cas was there talking to another guy. The artist closed his eyes and sighed. This was exactly the kind of shitty emotion he hated and found fucking pointless, and goddamn irritating to him. He just wanted to fuck, and that was that.

Dean made his way over towards the other side of the bar, making sure Cas could see him as he ordered himself a whiskey, neat. The twink was just glowing tonight, and fuck if Dean did his best to feel nonchalant and chill as he saw the bulky man try to crowd the twink against the bar.

Cas was wearing ridiculously tight jeans as if they were a second skin, putting that gorgeous ass on full display and emphasizing those killer thick thighs. He had on a loose t-shirt of some band Dean had never heard of. The artist’s cock twitched in his jeans.

When he took a sip of his drink and glanced over, he found those impossibly ocean blue eyes looking right at him, and fuck if they weren’t already filled with hunger. Dean winked as he smirked across the bar, and in the next moment Dean had to stop himself from outright laughing.

Cas just left the still talking stranger, and made a beeline straight for Dean. The artist’s ego sang like a damn canary.

“Hello, Dean.”

“Hey, sweetheart, you left your friend over there,” Dean greeted cheekily. The bulk of a man was now glaring at him as he quickly realized Cas had completely dismissed him.

“He doesn’t matter,” the twink stated, without sparing a glance towards the man, and moved into Dean’s personal space as he placed his hand over the artist’s chest and started to caress him. “Only your cock in my mouth does,” Cas whispered, as he tilted his head up to look Dean straight in the eye, and licked his plump pink lips.

Dean smiled, and within the next moment, they were in the dim and dingy bar bathroom with Cas on his knees in from of him, cock between those sensual lips, while Dean had a firm grip of his wild hair and was fucking his mouth. Having those lips stretched around his thick length, the twink licking and slobbering while moaning around his cock as it would hit the back of his throat, had Dean’s toes curling in his boots.

This was exactly what Dean needed to release the stress of those murders from his mind.

**#####**

Dean stretched his back as he moved away from his drawing table. He had been working on volume five for hours. He rubbed his face, not quite sure what time it was exactly as he stood and decided to turn on his TV. He yawned as the news rattled on behind him, until he heard something that made him turn towards the screen with undivided attention.

_“The police are baffled as the two new latest grotesque murders that transpired in the last forty eight hours are believed to be part of the ongoing series of gruesome murders that have hit our city in the last eight months. Sources say the murders have an eerily similar MO that are from a local graphic novelist’s most recent horror stories…”_

Dean swallowed as the female reporter’s voice became drowned out in the background as his cell phone started blaring on his coffee table. Yet the artist couldn’t move as he looked at the sequence of blurred pictures the news displayed, warning that they were graphic in nature. As they showed the first of the two murders, Dean moved forward and grabbed a copy of his fourth book of Bloody Mike and flipped to the murder of the ‘business woman’.

Mike growled as he watched the always so impeccably dressed business woman once again go about barking orders into her cell phone. She was always in pencil skirts that cost more than most of the rents on the block, with high heels that gave her the fierce ‘bitch in heels of steel’ look. Her blouse moved with her like silk as her breasts seemed to be overly perfect without a bounce in her plastic surgery roundness. It made Mike clench his teeth as the angel hummed inside of him, because she was quite a delectable dish to play with, indeed.

Her wide grey eyes reflected fear and shock while he shoved that damn phone even further down her fucking throat, blocking her airway with every centimeter. The blood splatter on her blouse made Mike start to snicker while she started to lose her battle with her need for air. The angel wanted her to suffer. He plugged his fist right into the center of her chest as she held onto her life and grasped her lungs, separating them from her body as she fell forward, drowning in blood. She would never bark orders again. Mike walked away, her organs in his hands, laughing maniacally into the midnight air.

Dean was panicking as he looked at his own art and at the crime scene photos on the TV. The reported stated word for word that her wounds were just as depicted in his book.

“No…“ Dean gasped, as the news moved on to the second murder. The artist listened to the details and he flipped to the ‘noisy neighbor’ in the book.

He was a completely inconsiderate being, a waste of space that had no common decency. Nothing but an irritating bug that needed to be _quiet_. The neighbor never parked correctly and always took two spaces. He didn’t give a fuck about others, and tended to rev his engine at all hours, as if his piece of shit 2004 Ford Mustang was something special. He had woken Mike for the last time. The angel roared inside of him as his eyes roamed the empty streets. Mike smiled and made his way to the man exiting the old silver car.

Mike struck out faster then the man could even register, severing his vocal chords in one swift move, and then placed his large hand over it, keeping the completely stunned man from bleeding out. Mike smiled at him and gave him a casual ‘Hello, neighbor’ before he poured gasoline into his lungs, drowning him and shoving him back into his beloved piece of garbage mustang as he gargled to death.

“No! No,” Dean whispered again and again. He finally noticed the red and blue lights flashing from outside and he hurried to the window. The news report of the latest victim had been live, and sure enough, there was the silver Mustang Dean’s irritating noisy neighbor owned, crowded by police and crime scene investigators swarming all over it like ants.

This made it the fifth murder, exactly as he had drawn and depicted in his fourth novel. Someone, some insane fan had taken his life's work and made it into a crazy, fanatical real-life worst nightmare.

Dean stared back at the TV as he sank down to sit on the edge of his bed, murmuring "This can't be happening" as he tugged at his hair. He was beyond comprehension as his mind swirled around the ‘why’ and ‘how’ of it, all while his cell phone continued to blare across the room from him. He just couldn’t find it in himself to answer it.

"What's the matter? It's exactly how you depicted all of their deaths." Dean jumped up and turned around, only to see _Cas_ sitting in midair just by the headboard of his bed. "I thought you'd like it."

"Cas?" Dean couldn’t quite understand what he was seeing as he stared at his lover with wide, shocked eyes. The artist rubbed at is face and eyes, because why the fuck was his seeing his regular piece of ass fucking hovering over his bed in midair? No, he had lost his motherfucking mind and was in a fucking nightmare.

"What? What's..." Dean’s mind was reeling, trying to grasp and understand just what the fuck was going on.

Cas tilted his head and took 'pity' on him. Cas uncrossed his legs and then…Dean’s throat tightened, and he watched in complete disbelief as the twink’s whole image began to change. His eyes glowed a bright blue, and small horns appeared, curling up like wisps of smoke with thorns thrusting up from the sides to meet the very end of its tips. Small, pointed leathery wings with a single sharp claw at midpoint unfurled from his back as a goddamn tail lashed out behind him that resembled that of a lion. Cas’s torso was exposed, showing off those killer sharp hip bones wearing ridiculously tight leather pants, and Dean couldn’t comprehend what the actual fuck he was looking at. Cas’s hands and feet were clawed like those of an eagle. Dean fell backwards on his ass in complete and utter shock as he stared wide eyed at the beautiful man he had been sleeping with for months became something of fantasy and dreams-if not nightmares-right before him.

"What’s the matter, Dean? All the research into the ancient scriptures, and you didn’t even know you were playing with the real thing? You _called_ me here for you, Dean," Cas tsked at him as he walked towards the heavily tattooed artist, hips swaying, and despite his unnatural appearance, he still exhumed nothing but a sensual and sexual energy about him that made Dean swallow hard. "I really love our time together. What is it you like to call me? ‘Sweetheart’? Yes, I quite like it when you call me that, when you are fucking into my tight ass 'owning' me." Cas moaned as he smiled and then grinned wildly, displaying his sharp fangs. "I wanted to show you how grateful I am by making your hidden 'dark' and bloody desires you only draw and write about into reality. Are you happy I did as you desired outside of the bedroom?" Cas went on, as he lowered himself to his hands and knees, down on all fours, and started to crawl seductively over towards Dean, who was on the floor against the far wall watching in absolute shocked rapture.

"How? How did I call you?" Dean managed, as he dared to feel a bit proud that his voice hadn't cracked.

Cas was in front of him now, kissing and licking at the artist’s boots, slowly making his way up his right leg. "The angel summoning. You called me, but you didn't finish the ritual. I had to go looking for you," Cas voiced as he started unbuckling Dean's belt. The artist was a bit too unnerved to stop him. Even with the horns, wings and tail... there was something undeniably stunning and breathtakingly _beautiful_ about the monster.

"Finish the ritual?" Dean croaked out as Cas took out his cock, watching in awed, stunned silence as the creature’s clawed hand turned to the small delicate hand he had been used to and started to stroke him.

"Of course, I'm yours, you bonded me to you-" Cas stated, as his glowing eyes bored into the artist’s own, and Dean’s eyes fluttered as he remembered he had bled on the original draft with the summoning when he had accidentally cut himself preparing dinner..."-but you didn't finish, you weren't here when I came. So I had to improvise," Cas informed him, before he lowered his head and stuck out his forked tongue and started to taste and suck Dean's cock, making the tattooed man moan and groan.

"Wait... wait, what does all that mean...fuck...what are you?" Dean tried, while Cas was fucking his own mouth with Dean's cock, humming and moaning around his thick girth.

Cas popped off with an obscene 'pop' and was practically purring as he moved forward to kiss Dean. The artist was much too far gone under the monster’s spell to resist as Cas tongue fucked him. "I'm your incubus, Dean. You are my master, unless, of course, you reject me," the incubus stated, as he ripped open Dean's t-shirt and ran his sharp claws down his chest, eyeing all of that taut, freckled and tattooed skin hungrily as he licked his lips.

"What happens if I reject you?" Dean whimpered, as Cas sucked on his neck and lapped at his nipples while one hand returned to pumping his cock. The incubus lifted his head and looked the tattooed artist dead in the eyes. His own glowed again and he smiled, his fangs sharp and glistening.

"Then I'll have to kill you."

**End**

**Author's Note:**

> IF YOU SEE ANY OF MY STORIES ON WATTPAD UNDER ANOTHER AUTHOR NAME BESIDES MY OWN (XHARUKA17X), **IT IS NOT ME!**. PLEASE LET ME KNOW IMMEDIATELY ABOUT THIS PERSON STEALING MY STORY. THIS HAS HAPPENED TWICE ALREADY. PLEASE COMMENT ON MY STORY OR CONTACT ME ON xharuka17x.tumblr.com. THANK YOU


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